Beverly pinned the cigarette between her lips, letting the smoke drift, taking his hand (John, apparently, was his name) for the assist up. Once she was on her feet, she took a drag, exhaling in a noxious silvery stream toward the sky. "Wasn't gonna - babysitting's not my thing," she chuckled huskily, ashes flicked off with a twitch of her thumb. "But if you want to...talk or anything. Sit in silence, whatever. I'm easy to find."
She was usually in Van Dyne's. Or at her house. Bev didn't wander very much - she had her routine, she stuck to it. It gave her some semblance of control, anyway - sometimes the false illusion of it was nice, in a very unpredictable town.